


Fear and Loathing in the Squash Aisle

by apoptoses



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, discrimination against squashes, domestic murder husbands, post-season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8189167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apoptoses/pseuds/apoptoses
Summary: Will dumps his scoop full of pumpkin into a tupperware container. "You said you would make me a pumpkin pie."
Hannibal isn't entirely certain how he got himself roped into this. Perhaps the promise of fellatio as a reward had something to do with it. 
(Or, Hannibal despises pumpkin guts. Will is appropriately bratty about it.)





	

Hannibal watches in a mix of horror and fascination as Will sits on a tarp of newspaper and scrapes an ice cream scoop over the inside of a pumpkin. His muscles bulge and strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt as he holds the pumpkin tight and guts it, dumping the insides into a tupperware container at his side. Hannibal can see slimy, orange guts tangled around Will's fingers each time he deposits another scoop of pumpkin.

He shudders.

He never thought his feelings of digust in regards to the squash family would play such a major role in his life, and yet here they are.

"As much as I am enjoying the view, I can't help but feel this whole task is getting out of hand," Hannibal says.

He likes Will sweaty and worked up; veins standing out on his forearms and some type of tool in his hands. He does not, however, like the mess accumulating on the floor. And the cabinets. And Will's shirt. 

"I'm not even going to get into how ridiculous that statement is coming from you." Will dumps his scoop full of pumpkin into a tupperware container. "You said you would make me a pumpkin pie."

Hannibal isn't entirely certain how he got himself roped into this. Perhaps the promise of fellatio as a reward had something to do with it. He struggles not to curl his lip when Will slops a bit of pumpkin onto the floor.

"I did. You, however, failed to mention the mess you would make in the process of acquiring the ingredients." 

"Yeah, well, I'm not the one who looked insulted upon the suggestion of using canned pumpkin. Hand me that towel, my hand is starting to slip."

Hannibal holds out the towel much in the same way someone would hold out a dead rat; fingertips barely touching the cloth. It's already appallingly wet and stained orange from the times Will used it earlier. Will wipes his hands and the scoop.

"Would it not have been easier to simply boil the entire pumpkin, and then remove the insides, pre-cooked?" Hannibal asks.

"No, then I couldn't carve it after." 

"I see."

Hannibal flinches as a bit of pumpkin flies across the room to splatter on his cabinets. He's going to have to bleach the whole room in the morning. Perhaps after he throws away Will's t-shirt and the towel. 

"Or would you rather carve it?" Will asks. " You are better with a scalpel."

Will dumps out another scoop of guts. A particularly slimy piece dangles from Will's forearm before falling to the floor. The sight of it causes Hannibal to imagine the feeling of having his own hand inside the pumpkin, squishing around in all of the cold, wet mess. His stomach roils.

"I appreciate the compliment, but no, thank you. I'll leave that task to you." The pumpkin squelches as Will bangs his scoop on the side of the container, Hannibal's gag reflex clenches in response. "In fact, if you could also remove the seeds before I begin making the pie I would be grateful."

Will frowns. "You look kind of...sick. Are you okay?"

"I am perfectly fine, Will."

"Really? Because you've got the same look Buster used to get before he'd puke."

"Don't-" Hannibal pauses and takes a deep breath. "I simply detest raw pumpkin, that's all."

The scoop clangs as it hits the floor. Here we go, Hannibal thinks.

"Wait. You- Hannibal the Cannibal-"

"I thought we discussed never using that particular nickname in this house-"

"You, who skinned a man and turned him inside out to make a heart," Will continues. The newspaper rustles as he stands. "You, who eats human hearts-"

"-is disgusted by the squash family, yes," Hannibal finishes for him. "Now would you please wash your hands before you smear that foul mess on something I would prefer not to throw out?"

Will stands before him, covered in pumpkin guts up to his elbows and grinning like a madman. He's going to reek of it tonight when they're in bed. Hannibal wonders if a medical store is open this time of night, perhaps he can get some surgical soap and-

His train of thought is derailed when Will assaults him, wet, sticky fingers lacing with Hannibal's and lips catching him in a kiss before he can run away. His stomach doesn't know which way to swoop. Will sucks at his lower lip, and pleasure soon begins to outweigh disgust.

"You know, some therapists suggest that the quickest way to overcome a fear is through exposure therapy," Will murmurs against his mouth between kisses. His filthy hands still clutch Hannibal's. He struggles in Will's grasp.

"Let me go. I'm going to call Jack and tell him where you are," Hannibal threatens.

Will laughs. "No, you're going to make me my pie."

Hannibal looks at him. All of the pumpkin in the world could not put a damper on his love for this man. Even with his fingers stained orange and seeds clinging to the ends of his hair, he's radiant. 

"Of course, Will."


End file.
